


Becoming

by debit



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debit/pseuds/debit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set just prior to the events of the film. An Orange perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Becoming

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written May 29, 2000.

The point of it is to open oneself to the possibility of becoming partly a dog.  
\--Edward Hoagland

 

The trick to going under cover, they said, was to let the small shit happen. You can't be prepared for every little contingency. Sometimes you just have to let the situation flow.

And to be honest, it wasn't that hard. When I first walked into the bar, it was like walking into the precinct my first day as a rookie, seeing everyone's eyes go cold and watchful until they knew I belonged. Was one of them, I guess. That's the one thing cops and perps have in common. You're either one of them or simply classified under 'other'.

These guys, Joe, Eddie and White all had the same look. Cold, hard, appraising. That is, until I broke out the well rehearsed toilet story. And suddenly, I knew what they'd meant about the difference between reciting and telling. I didn't tell the story. I fucking lived it, could smell the old piss, could feel the dog's hot breath after every harsh bark. And with each word, I became more not myself. By the time I was done and the laughter had faded along with their suspicion, I was…someone else. Loose. Free. Cool and easy and able to just let it all…flow.

And the new me pulled it off. Took the offer, made the deal and became one of them.

The laughs, forced until now, were real. Everything was casual, from the insults to the light touches.

He, White, lingered in the parking lot after Joe ushered us out the door. Just, you know, looking at me.

"Night's still young," he remarked casually.

"Yeah? You got something in mind?" I leaned against my car, pulled out a cigarette and fumbled for my lighter.

"Maybe."

A flame danced in front of me, casting shadows on his face. He cupped the fire as I leaned forward, touched the tip of the cigarette to his light and inhaled. He waited, courteously, until I had a good cherry going, then snapped the lighter closed.

"Bars are going to be closing soon," I pointed out.

"I have a bar in my room."

And there was no mistaking that look, even if I'd missed the way he'd been touching me all night long. Nothing obvious, mind you. Little things. The brush of his knee against mine under the table. The way he leaned forward to listen when I spoke. How his eyes focused on me when I spoke and became heavy when I licked the foam off my lips after a drink.

The old me might have been suspicious, wondered if he was playing me. The new me apparently was a slut.

I walked toward his car, slow and easy, letting him look all he wanted before slanting my own look at him through my lashes and asked, "Fully stocked?"

"Yeah," he murmured.

"Then let's go."

The thing about him was how gentle he was. How courteous. What my mother would have called 'Old World Charm'. Yeah, he has it in spades. I bet he never let a woman open the door for herself, never neglected to say please and thank you. So of course he opened the car door for me and asked me if I wanted something other than the oldies station on the radio once we were in motion. Like I said, courteous.

Still, I half expected him to pounce when we got to the room. But no. He offered me a drink and remembered exactly how I liked it.

He commented on how young I looked but didn't go into how I should either rethink my career choice or congratulate me for it. Just nodded when I said, "I'm old enough."

"That you are. Or else you wouldn't be doing this. Would you?"

When I just smiled, he continued, "You do know why you're here?"

I looked at him, looked at the bed and let my smile widen. Would it be fucked up to say I didn't even have second thoughts? I mean, wasn't this carrying things too far? No one ever said get inside, get the information and oh by the way, Freddy, take a dick up the ass while you're at it.

This had nothing to do with getting the job. This wasn't a deal breaker. Now if had been Joe sitting across the room from me, yeah. The deal would have been broken worse than Humpty freaking Dumpty. But White was White and I was someone else for the duration and fuck it. The new me wanted to flow with this.

"Yeah, I know. So. Do you really want to finish that drink? Or would you rather come here and show me?"

He looked at his drink. Set it down. And then said simply, "I would prefer that you come over here."

If I'd still been Freddy Newendyke I might have challenged his mild command. As it was, I set my drink down as well before crossing the room to stand in front of him.

I don't know what I expected. Maybe for him to push me to me knees, just, you know, to reinforce who exactly was in charge of what here. Instead, he crooked his mouth in a little smile, smoothed my hair back then kissed me.

He must be a great thief. While he repeatedly took my mouth I barely felt him take off my clothes, hardly noticed as he piled them neatly on a chair. Deft. He was very deft.

The bed was soft, the sheets even softer, far better than what I expected for standard hotel fare. But then White was a guy with a fully stocked wet bar in his room and plenty of condoms and lube in the nightstand. Courteous, tidy and prepared. I was willing to bet he even cleaned up after a break in.

White must have noticed how I trembled when he rolled me over and pulled me onto all fours. "Easy," he said in a low, calm voice, just like you would to a nervous horse just before it bolts. "It's all right." Between his voice and his hand steadily stroking my cock I relaxed under him, barely flinching when he pushed in.

Even so, he must have noticed. "You okay?"

I closed my eyes, concentrated on the feeling of him, over me, in me, and pushed back. "Yeah. Just let me…yeah."

And it was as easy as that. He pulled out, readjusted his angle and thrust back in.

This time there was no flinching, there was nothing but him filling me, pulling me closer with one hand, jerking me off with the other. It would have been easy, so easy to lose myself in the rhythm of our bodies and his deft, knowing hand, to just let go and empty my mind of everything else, but…

"Stop."

He paused, panting, "What?"

"What's your name?" Wasn't supposed to ask, I knew, but… Fuck. "Look, lie if you want. I just fucking well know I don't want to moan out 'White' when I come."

He took a breath, thinking about it, then murmured "Larry." He didn't ask for mine. And that was all right, that was the way it was supposed to be.

Thrusting back in, he murmured against my neck. Love words, sex words, endearments. "You feel so good. Pretty baby. Sweet baby."

He was silent when he came, but held me tighter when I moaned out, "Larry" and spurted all over his hand.

Afterward, he slipped from the bed, came back with a damp towel and gently cleaned me up then finger combed my sweat soaked hair off of my forehead.

"There,' he said simply. "Better." Then he spooned up behind me, pressed a kiss on my shoulder and was silent, except for his soft, even breath.

And if just before I fell asleep it occurred to me this was the best way to make sure that I was in no matter what, well, that was between the new me and the old me. Fuck it. You can't sweat the small stuff. At the very least I had his name.


End file.
